


restless as the wind

by ameloren



Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameloren/pseuds/ameloren
Summary: An AU where Rajaion escapes Daein with a baby and no Almedha. Because of the stance against the Parentless, Rajaion has no choice but to abandon his birthright to raise Soren outside of Goldoa, masquerading as a travelling mercenary swordsman and his motherless son.
Relationships: Senerio | Soren & Rajaion (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	restless as the wind

**Author's Note:**

> ...first fic? Hope all the formatting is working, I'm not sure I did this correctly, the spacing seems a little funny. Spoilers for all of Soren's backstory, hope you've had the chance to do that second RD playthrough.

A bundle is placed carefully into his hands.

"Please, Rajaion," his sister whispers. "Please."

"Almedha..." he says, mindful of the guards outside the room.

"I cannot run with him," she says. "He will hunt me down, and he will not rest until he has us both. I must stay. Please, brother, take care of him, and go."

He looks down at the young prince, asleep, thumb tucked inside his mouth.

"As you wish. What have you named him?" 

"Soren," she says, presses a kiss to the red mark on his nephew's forehead, and steps away.

He presses a crystal into her hands, vanishes out the window, and whisks Soren away into the night.

* * *

Once he is far away enough from the castle, he ducks into an alleyway.

Where to go next?

He could return to Goldoa, but his nephew...the stigma against the Parentless...

Soren opens his red, red eyes, and burbles at him.

He is but a child, he thinks, heart sinking. Could he subject his baby nephew to the politics that plagued Goldoa's court?

At least a visit to his father. And perhaps Ena, he thinks. Ena will understand. And then he will raise Almedha's son among the beorc if he has to.

* * *

Dheginsea frowns at him. The throne room is empty, devoid of all but Gareth, ever faithful. 

"You are determined, then? Nothing will change your mind?"

"No." Rajaion gulps. Soren is still in his arms, awake and aware. "I think this is the best course of action, Father."

"May I?" He gestures at the bundle.

"Father..." 

"I won't hurt him. I only wish to hold my first grandchild."

He hands him over, and watches as his father carefully repositions the blanket around him so that it stays secure.

"I agree with your decision. I dislike it, but I agree. He cannot stay here, in Goldoa," he continues, eyes locked with the baby in his hands. "Rajaion..."

"Father?"

"We lost the squadron we sent to Daein."

"I - "

"If we fake your death, tell them that you were lost... I believe this will work." He looks up, into Rajaion's eyes. "You realize that you will have to renounce all your ties? You are willing to sacrifice this, for your nephew?"

"I - Father - yes. Yes. He's only a child, Father, I can't leave him alone. You know how the beorc and laguz treat the Parentless, I can't just leave him there," he says, heart in his throat. If his father agrees, then - 

"Stay for at least the night. I expect you to explain yourself to your younger brother, as well as Ena. Gareth will gather supplies," he gestures at Gareth, "and we will secure your spot on a ship to Gallia."

"Thank you." He is shaking.

"You do realize that Kurthnaga will take your place as heir?"

"I am certain he will rise to the occasion."

"Hmmph."

* * *

Daybreak, and Rajaion is in his room, virtually unchanged from when he left it last; books from the palace library stacked haphazardly on his desk, papers sticking out from every direction. The exception is Kurthnaga's old crib in the corner, holding his sleeping nephew. Sound asleep, hopefully, since it had been a trial to calm him down. Clearly, the unfamiliar situation had been too much. 

A knock sounds at the door.

"Enter," Rajaion says. He knows this is Ena - Kurth likely would have barged in without knocking.

"Rajaion?" She enters his room and joins him at the window. "How did it go? How is your sister?"

"I couldn't save Almedha," he says bitterly, closing his eyes. He has saved his nephew, but he would forever regret not saving his sister. So close, and yet so far. Some older brother he was.

A pause. 

"How did your father take the news?"

"The same as he takes all bad news these days, Ena," he says. "Besides, we had more pressing matters to speak about."

"More pressing matters? Rajaion, I know you're beating around the bush. Tell me what's wrong."

Damn. She knows him and his tells too well.

He lets out a sigh and gestures at the crib.

"I failed to rescue Almedha, but I did rescue her child," he says.

Ena blinks, taking in the new information.

"And I assume he is now your responsibility."

"Ena, I have no idea how to raise a child." He buries his head in his hands.

"Nonsense, you did wonderfully with Prince Kurth," she says, patting his shoulder. "This one will probably be easier, since he can't turn into a dragon."

"Ena!" He throws up his arms. "Really!"

"I am being entirely honest," she says. "That child is very lucky to have you as his surrogate parent."

"There's more," he manages to get out. His stomach sinks. He will have to give her his decision. He will have to break her heart.

"Rajaion..." she says.

"He is one of the Parentless. King Ashnard of Daein, a beorc, is his father," he continues.

"I don't see how that's a problem. Rajaion, you've always been more open-minded than your father. You cannot possibly tell me that parentage of all things is making you hesitate."

"Ena...I cannot raise him in Goldoa."

* * *

Later, after the sun is higher in the sky, with the murmurs of Goldoa waking up echoing in the background, she turns to him.

"I must go soon." She gives him a kiss on the lips, and he closes his eyes, trying to commit her to memory. 

"Already?" He steps away, his hands falling away from her shoulders, lingering on her arms.

"Indeed. I have duties to attend to, Prince Rajaion," she says, smiling softly. 

"Ah, Ena - " He is cut off by a quiet cry that comes from the crib in the corner.

"I really must be going, Rajaion," she says. But she scoops the baby up, cradles him gently to her chest, and Rajaion cannot help but think of a different situation, where the baby she would be clutching to her chest would be their's -

"I - Ena - His name is Soren," he says, because that is all he can say. 

"Soren," she says. "Take care of your uncle for me, yes?"

The baby burbles at her, attempts to grasp dangling bits of hair.

"Ena..." He has run out of words. She meets his eyes squarely.

"I wish you and Soren all the best," she says, pressing her lips to Soren's forehead. She steps forward, depositing Soren into his hands.

"Ena - you as well. Be happy. Be fortunate. Forget me, if that will make it easier." He clutches his nephew to him, and watches as she opens the door.

She turns back to him with a sad smile. The hallway behind her is lit, radiant, sun-speckled stone -

And with that, she is gone. He will not see her for years, until Soren is almost full grown.

* * *

Just before noon, the lunch hour, Rajaion is packing swiftly and efficiently when he hears the fast, sharp pitter patter of Kurth running up to his door.

Ah, well. Time to face the music. He was planning to talk to Kurthnaga after lunch, since he was supposed to be in lessons, but no matter.

"Rajaion, you're back!" And with that, the door is flung open, thankfully not crashing into the wall behind it.

"Kurth." Rajaion straightens up and turns from his packing to give his baby brother a look over. "Are you not supposed to be in lessons right now?"

"I don't see why you can't raise him here!" Kurth is furious, and seconds away from throwing a full-fledged tantrum. "It's not fair! Almedha left, and now you're going to leave me all alone too?"

"Kurthnaga." 

* * *

Raising a child is difficult. 

Raising a Parentless child is doubly more so.

* * *

Soren grows quickly. Much faster than Kurthnaga, at least, even though Soren is all bones and awkward joints. He's quieter than Kurth, shy and withdrawn, content to huddle and clutch his hand as Raj deals with the merchants and villagers. He's also so, so skinny, sharp edges and cutting tongue where Kurth was all curves and baby fat, sweet naivety. 

Most assume that Soren is his son, and he does not correct them - a travelling father and his motherless son (how tragic) gain far more sympathy than their true selves would, and if it gives them dry shelter and some sort of food in their bellies, then Rajaion will grit his teeth and bear with it. 

He has some skill with a sword, which keeps them protected from bandits and thieves looking to make an easy living, and helps him earn some food and money. He silently thanks his father for insisting the blade be a part of his studies, no matter how much he complained about it as a child.

This fight, on the other hand, is not going in his favour. These bandits are all part of a group, outfitted with decent weapons, and have a some sort of a command structure. He has an excellent weapon, but he's also got a child behind him, and Soren's virtually defenseless.

As Soren pulls on his cloak, he can't help but note that he's got a surprisingly strong grip for a child, as he guides their retreat, pulling them into a sheltered area, surrounded by trees and rocks.

"Here," Soren says, smug. "No getting surrounded. We make them attack one by one and not in a big group."

"Ah, is that your strategy?" Raj grins, and salutes his sword at the bandit following them. They may have the advantage on numbers, but he's got an excellent strategist.

After the battle, Soren fusses over him, dabs a vulnerary over his cuts, and Raj pulls out a small, battered chess set. He has fond memories of this one, of his father teaching and decimating him at chess, playing with Kurth, who always lost patience halfway through the game, and later, late nights with Ena, as they played stalemate after stalemate.

"Hey, Soren. Stop that, I'm alright. Want to learn how to play chess?"

His nephew sits down with a huff and a thump, and looks up at him with big red eyes.

"It's a strategy game. We set up the chessboard like this..."

* * *

Time passes, and once Soren gets the hang of the game, Rajaion resigns himself to being slaughtered at chess every night. It's like playing against his father again, except this time it's his tiny kid nephew.

They stay at a church for a couple days after Rajaion heads off a couple of bandits heckling the sages. It turns out one of them plays chess, and Rajaion suggests Soren play with him for a change.

"Plays a mean game of chess, doesn't he," the sage says afterward, when Soren sleeps, curled up in spare blankets by the fire.

"Oh yeah," Raj says, "Terrifying. Who do you think he plays when we're on the road?"

"That's what I thought," he says. "Look. I don't want to pry, since you're obviously taking care of him, but - is your kid a spirit charmer?"

"A spirit - what?" Raj blinks. He's never heard of the term before.

"A spirit charmer. Some people, or kids, I guess, they make a deal with spirits to give them power. Hence the name, spirit charmer," he says. "The deal manifests as a mark - like the one on your kid's forehead, maybe?"

His heart leaps into his throat. When had Soren's headband slipped? 

"I won't rat you out, if he is - he's just a child, and I was curious, sorry - " the sage blurts, noting his panic.

"No, no, I just - I didn't know about spirit charmers," Raj says.

"They're - well. I guess you could call it an urban legend, I suppose. No one's really sure if they exist, since they're so uncommon." The sage shrugs. "Apparently they're really good at magic, if you were worried about him being unarmed. I can teach him the basics, start him on a spellbook, if you want."

"I would really like that, if he's willing, of course. I'll ask him in the morning - or you can, if he comes to you for another chess game. You gave him a run for his money there, near the end. He normally only plays me, so the change was good for him. Looked like he enjoyed it."

"Well, whatever he is, he's got a mind for tactics. It was a good game. Kept me on my toes." The sage clasps him on the shoulder. "I've got to get some rest - I've got to be up before the sun rises. Goodnight, good sir."

"Goodnight, honoured sage. Thank you." 

The next evening, Soren produces his first Wind spell, and goes to sleep with a smile on his face, exhausted, clutching his new spellbook.

* * *

And then - the unthinkable happens.

Rajaion knows the disdain the laguz have for the Parentless, in the way they ignore them in every way possible.

Rajaion did not know the fear and hatred the beorc had for the Branded. He can fight off bandits, can fight off ruffians - he cannot fight off what seems to be half a village of armed, angry mercenaries and villagers. Well. That's not strictly true. He can't fight them off in this soft, human form, and certainly not when he's trying to keep an eye on his nephew, who they are all trying to kill. He doesn't understand this religious fanaticism that insists on killing children in the name of the goddess.

"Tactical retreat," Soren mumbles into his neck, one hand tightly fisted in the fabric of his shirt as he runs. Rajaion runs a soothing hand down his back, because he has no more breath left for platitudes. They are in trouble this time, and they know it.

They stop in a clearing, Rajaion catching his breath. He can't sustain this rate forever, as strong as he is. There is only one path left to them.

"Soren," he says, voice hoarse. "I want you to run ahead. I'll catch up, you hear me?"

"Diversion?" Soren asks, voice wavering. He's so...small, and there are plenty of other things that can hurt him in the world, but this is the more immediate threat.

"Yes," Rajaion says, firmly. "Run ...that way," he says, pointing in a direction away from the angry mob. "I'll find you later. Don't worry. I will." He locks their pinkies together. "See."

"Fine," he says, huffing. Rajaion quickly gives him a good portion of rations - not enough to weigh him down, but should be enough to eat in the time it'll take for Rajaion to find him again.

"Go," Rajaion says, giving him a light push on the back.

Soren, wonder of wonders, turns around to throw his arms around him. "Love you," he says, voice muffled in his shirt. 

"Love you too," Rajaion says, heart in his throat. "Go now, before they catch up."

Soren goes, wobbling a little on unsteady feet, into the night.

Rajaion doesn't have to wait long for the angry mob, armed with steel and fire.

"Where's the Branded whelp?" The leader asks, face twisted with hate.

"Gone far from here," Rajaion says, drawing himself up, putting on a face without fear. It is like the games of the royal courts, and here, far from home, far from Goldoa, he draws up the face and armour of Rajaion, Crown Prince of Goldoa, heir to the throne, firstborn of Dheginsea, blessed of the Goddess. 

"You're hiding him," the man sneers, firelight flickering. "Is that your son? His existence is a crime against the Goddess, and a product of your sin. Repent and renounce him, and we'll let you free. Continue to hide him, and we will burn you both alive."

Rajaion does not move a muscle, doesn't allow him to see anything but his cold disdain.

"He is not my son," he says, ice cold. "He is but a child. His existence is no shame or crime. I am proud to be his guardian, till the end of my days. Shame on you, for hunting a defenseless boy. Have you no mercy or kindness in your souls? The Goddess would be ashamed." Or, at least, Lehran would, and given what he knew of the Goddess through him, it wasn't that bad of a guess.

"According to the Goddess, he is an abomination," the leader says. "He must be extinguished from the world, so that we may continue to live in peace."

"That's bollocks," Rajaion says, thinking of Soren, the way he lit up when he learned something new, the way he smiled when he beat Raj at another game of chess, the warmth in his heart when he threw his arms around him and whispered that he loved him. There's a fury that building in him now, slowly, but surely. Father had always warned him of the danger of his anger, and it starts to blur his mind to white noise, the ability to speak words slipping from him.

"Are you human or laguz, to defend him so quickly," the leader muses. "No matter. We have steel and fire for both," he says, voice smug.

No lightning. Ye gods. He's really going to do this.

"Steel and fire..." he says through white haze, drawing himself up tighter. "Neither of them work on me." He bares his teeth, already elongating, sharp and pointed.

The despicable little man calls for torches. Rajaion laughs, low, with a dragon's rumble.

Dark wings extend and unfurl, furious against the night sky, blocking out the light of the moon. 

When the sun rises, there will be none left to witness the remains of a slaughter. 

Any news about this one will be overshadowed by the massacre of another village, one town over.

* * *

When he finds Soren again, he's picking through the remains of a dead village.

"What are you doing?" The words burst from Rajaion's mouth, like the twang of a released arrow. The putrid stink of blood, decay, and death hang in the air, and Rajaion has had enough of it. He's had enough of bodies, enough of the iron taste of blood in his mouth, the ringing of screams in his ears. 

"Uncle Raj!" Soren clambers down from where he'd been peering at what had been the body of a child as he runs across the village square into his arms. "I'm looking for a boy. His name is Ike and he's really kind and gave me half of his sandwich and he promised that he'd visit me again today except he didn't show up, so I went to the village and - "

Raj's heart sinks.

"He's not here," Soren whispers. "I've checked all of them."

"All of them," Rajaion says, confused.

"All of the bodies," he says, giving Rajaion one of Dheginsea's 'don't be so slow, boy, keep up' faces. Rajaion's stomach turns at the thought of Soren looking through every single body to find this mysterious Ike boy.

"Right," Rajaion says. "Maybe he left because of whatever caused this," he says. "If anyone survived, I don't think they'd stay here."

"That's sensible," Soren says, frowning. "He's a beorc," he says. "He offered to bring me home with him to his mother and father and little sister, except I said no 'cause what if they turned out to be like those other mean beorc with the fire and the swords."

"I think," Rajaion says carefully. "That if they've raised your friend Ike to be kind and friendly, they must also be kind and friendly themselves."

"But what if they weren't?" Soren asks, eyes wide with fear.

Rajaion clutches Soren tighter as he considers his response.

"Shall we go find out?" he asks.

Soren looks at him with glowing eyes. "Can we?"

"Of course," he says. "Didn't you say you wanted to see your friend Ike?"

* * *

It takes several years of travelling, across Gallia and into Crimea, before they run into Soren's mysterious Ike again.

They've been taking shelter in small chapels on their journey, and this one, by the sounds of it, has been having trouble with bandits. The priests assure them that they've hired a mercenary group to handle the problem for them, and they're due to arrive that morning.

The mercenary group is a little late, and with some surprising additions. Children, because that's why they're late. Of course. Rajaion understands entirely.

There's two children. The oldest - and tallest - is a boy with a rather put upon expression, and a head of messy blue hair. From the snatches of conversation, the younger girl is his sister, the crying child clinging to a tall, grizzled man, apparently the head of the group, and likely her father.

"That's him," Soren says, keeping his voice low. "That's Ike, from Gallia." 

The tall grizzled man turns his head sharply towards them. Raj meets his gaze steadily. 

"Well, perhaps you should go say hello," Raj says, hand on Soren's back. "Go on."

Soren goes, shyly reintroducing himself to the blue haired boy, Ike. Rajaion breathes a sigh of relief, and approaches the boy's father.

"I'm Raj," he says, holding a hand out to shake. "Soren's uncle."

"Greil," the man says, and shakes his hand with the one not occupied by crying child. His hands are callused, like a swordsman's, but clearly his weapon of choice these days is the ax by his side.

Soren and Ike have moved on from stilted introductions to whatever fascinating areas of conversation children have.

"Well," Greil says. "I'm glad they're getting along. I've been worried about Ike lately. Too quiet."

"Ah," Raj says. Parental concern, he understands. Besides, it's nice for Soren to have some friends his own age. "Soren's never been one for socialization, so I'm rather surprised."

After a brief kerfluffle involving Mist, the crying girl ("I wanna know him too, it's not fair-" "Mist, you've been with me this whole time, you have to talk to him to know him. Here, I'll set you down."), Greil has both hands free of children and is ready to start fulfilling the contract for the bandits.

Rajaion takes another look at the animated three-way conversation with Soren, Ike, and Mist, and thinks of a world where he can hear his nephew's happy voice every day, and strikes up his nerves. For Soren, he thinks, and if Soren is safer, and they don't have to worry as much about the food in their mouths and shelter, perhaps he can start asking some of his contacts about finding Almedha. Perhaps, one day, he can reunite his nephew with his sister.

He walks up alongside Greil.

"So," he says. "Could you use a swordsman?"

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then they lived happily ever after! until Soren's dad came back to torch Crimea, but that's a story for another day.


End file.
